Black, Brady Black

Chapter Three

"Higher, Mom, higher!" the little boy squealed. The raven-haired woman smiled brightly at her young son and obliged with a strong push on his swing. The golden haired boy soared high into a sky the color of his eyes. "I'm flying!" he cried, feeling the rushing wind on his face as his mother pushed him higher and higher on the swings.

He heard her laughter behind him, soft, lilting, like music. How he loved her voice. It sang him to sleep each night, woke him gently every morning, and when she laughed, oh it was the greatest sound in the world.

Heavy crunching footsteps told him his father was coming. Sure enough, a strong hand ruffled his hair and a deep voice laughed. "Hey, son, having fun?"

The boy nodded as he came to a screeching, sand kicking stop. He turned to see his father, who was dark haired like his mother. He scrunched up his face. Once again his parents were being "kissy."

He interrupted with a dramatic whine. "Dad, I'm hunnnnnnnngry."

His father smiled as he bent down over him. "You are? Well, then, where would you like to eat? As if I need to ask," he added in an aside to his wife.

"Brady Pub!" he cried, throwing both arms in the air in a V.

"And why do you want to eat there?" his father asked in a mock serious tone, one eyebrow arching playfully.

"Cause it's named after me!" he cried.

But then suddenly the scenery changed. The park had been replaced by city streets. The boy looked around, calling for his vanished parents. "Mom, Dad?" he cried, feeling a familiar sense of foreboding. Somehow he knew what would happen next.

A loud bang rent the air around him and echoed off the neighboring buildings. Finally he saw her and called out for her. "Mom!"

But she didn't hear him, didn't see him. She fell to the ground, clutching her chest. Her white dress had a large red spot on it and it was growing larger every minute.

The boy heard his father's running footsteps. He ran to his wife, face strangely pale. "God, Isabella, no." he moaned.

The boy frowned. What was wrong with his mom? Why didn't she just get up? And why was his father cradling her body in his arms? Why was he crying?

No answers came to the boy as he watched the sad scene. The man rocked his wife's body in his arms, clutching her closely to him as other footsteps ran onto the scene. The last thing the boy saw before the ambulance blocked his view was of his father's angry stony face as he looked up at heaven and howled,

"Damn you, Dimera! Damn you!"

Brady Black awoke with a start. He looked around in momentary confusion as he calmed his racing heart. {I'm on the Basic Black jet,} he realized. {Oh, right, the mission.}

He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. He'd had the dream again; the flashing images still clear in his mind. He had the dream often and as painful as it was for him to relive his mother's death he was still always glad to see her again.

He was four when his mother was murdered. He had precious few memories of her and it was only in his dreams that he could see her clearly. He saw her again in his mind as she was shot, watched her die in his father's arms. He saw this and remembered with a cold anger that the man who had murdered her was the same man he was chasing.

"Here you go, Mr. Black."

Brady looked up to see a busty flight attendant. The curvy redhead held a drink in her outstretched hand.

"Oh, thanks." He smiled as he took the drink, noticing when her slender fingers brushed against his.

"Don't mention it. If you don't mind my asking, what takes you to Munich?"

{Dimera,} came the unspoken answer. But of course he couldn't tell her that. As his father had told him many times, what was the use in being a secret agent if you're going to tell everyone?

"Oh, just getting a feel for the latest European fashions. Basic Black can't afford to fall even one step behind."

"How exciting!" the attendant gushed, her green eyes traveling over Brady's exquisite figure. Her eyes darted back up to his tan, handsome face. "Well, my name's Candy. Call me if you need anything," she purred suggestively, before leaving the room, hips swaying gently.

Brady chuckled, half tempted to take her up on her offer. He checked his watch. He had the time and it certainly would be fun. But he just sighed and looked out the windows at the white clouds flying by.

He was tired of fun. Fun wasn't meaningful; fun wasn't real. Fun was waking up beside women whose names he didn't know and whose faces he wouldn't remember.

Brady frowned. He wasn't sure when he had become so dissatisfied with his life, but the feeling had been growing for a while. It wasn't that he didn't like his job; on the contrary he loved it. He liked knowing that he was doing something important, that he was making the world a better place.

But it wasn't enough anymore. Something was missing, and he didn't have a clue what it was.

"You have ten minutes," the voice on the other end spoke.

"Ten minutes? Please - I could do it in five - blindfolded, with two arms and a leg tied behind my back, and bleeding from four gunshot wounds," she declared.

The deep voice chuckled. "I appreciate your.enthusiasm, but ten minutes will be just fine." There was a slight pause on the other end. "Be careful," the voice said simply before severing the connection.

"Ten minutes? No problem," she muttered with a confidence she didn't feel. She stared at the security system and felt butterflies in her stomach.

"Come on, girl. Father's counting on you." She took a deep breath and her training took over. She bypassed the alarms and then picked the lock on the balcony's double French doors. She entered the empty bedroom, her padded feet making no noise. A fully trained Japanese ninja could not have been so quiet. She scanned the room, pressing her night vision goggles to her face.

There! She saw it on the far wall. She stared in awe at it. It was magnificent.

"An original da Vinci. Father will be most pleased."